JACK HARDY (continued 2)

Jack swung himself up, flung a coin to the boatman, and turned to the old sailor.

"Where's Mr. Blake?"

"Below, sir, a-laying in his bunk, twisted up with rheumatics. You're in command, sir, pro tem, as brother Sol used to say."

"Very well; heave the anchor, and run up the mainsail. You're the bo'sun, eh?"

"Ay, ay, sir: name Babbage; not Sol, sir; that's my brother, and a much better chap nor me, though, so far. Ben Babbage my name, sir."

"Well, Babbage, clear the harbor. I'll go and see Mr. Blake and get her course. You can call me when you've fairly crossed the bar."

"Ay, ay, sir."

Jack went below and found the lieutenant groaning in his bunk. He was a weather-beaten sea-dog of forty-five, who had long since given up whatever dreams of promotion he might at one time have entertained.

"You're back, then, Mr. Hardy," he said. "You see me a martyr to rheumatism: my old enemy serves me like this every time I go to sea. Babbage gave you my message?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'll tell you what our orders are. French privateers are careering up and down the Channel, dodging our cruisers and swooping down on our merchantmen. We've got to cruise at large, keeping one eye on the French, and t'other on the smugglers. They're expected to be pretty active just now, when every one's mad with excitement about these flat-bottomed boats that Boney is going to invade us with. The Fury has got to act as a sort of watch-dog."

"Not much fun about that, sir," said Jack.

"No, sir, no fun, and no glory. Both you and I, I take it, would sooner sling our hammocks on a frigate or a line-of-battle ship. But we've our duty to do, sir, and we can't do more than our duty, wherever we are. Did you find your relatives well?"

"Yes, sir. Do you know Luscombe?"

"No, I've never done this shore-crawling before."

"A good deal of smuggling goes on there, I am told. 'Tis a quiet little place, almost hidden away in a recess between the cliffs. It doesn't seem to have been troubled much by the preventive men."

"The last riding-officer was a slack-twisted fellow, it appears, no good for his job. The new man—I've seen him once or twice here—is energetic enough, but not too quick-witted, I should say, and a little inclined to be bumptious."

At this point a sailor put his head in at the little cabin.

"If you please, sir, Mr. Babbage says we're off Minton Point, and waits for orders."

"Very well, Turley. Go on deck, Mr. Hardy, and take a run down Channel. Let me know what you think of the Fury's sailing powers; we've nothing but our speed to trust to if we happen to fall in with the enemy in force."

All feelings of disappointment vanished from Jack's mind immediately as he stepped on deck. The Fury was in all respects a model cutter. Jack had admired the beauty of her lines as she lay in harbor, sitting the water like a sea-bird, with every promise of speed in the graceful hull, the long tapering mast and the huge boom extending considerably beyond the stern. Now heeling slightly to a stiff sou'-sou'-westerly breeze, with her great spread of canvas she seemed to Jack like a sea-bird in flight. A stately Indiaman that had left port some time before was working to windward a mile ahead. In order to test the capacity of the Fury Jack brought her a few points nearer the wind, and found that he steadily overhauled the huge vessel. Before nightfall the Indiaman was nearly hull down, and Jack was satisfied that the Fury had the heels of most craft he was likely to meet on the coast.

Two small brass guns, one forward and one aft, comprised her whole armament. Jack could not help contrasting this with the forty huge guns of the Ariadne. The crew consisted of some five and twenty seamen and marines. Most of them had seen much service, and one and all wished they were with Nelson chasing the French instead of being engaged in what they considered the humdrum task of watching the coast. Jack privately thought it might turn out to be not so very humdrum after all. He soon made himself acquainted with the crew, and was rather attracted by a merry-eyed salt named Joe Turley, a handy man who seemed to live to poke fun at Babbage the bo'sun. Among the men that worthy was variously known as Cabbage, Artichoke, Brussels sprouts, Sparrow-grass, and Turnip-tops; he was rarely called by his own name, except to the officers, when he was always alluded to most respectfully as Mr. Babbage.

A fortnight passed away, and Jack, as well as every member of the crew, was growing very tired of the uneventful life. Every day was alike, save for the weather, and that varied little. The cutter cruised up and down the Channel between Weymouth and Portsmouth, putting in occasionally to communicate with the riding-officer and to take in provisions, but finding nothing of any importance to do. The smugglers seemed to be quiet; the only vessels sighted were British merchantmen passing up or down Channel under convoy, or fishing-smacks out from the English ports. The men grumbled at the lack of chances of obtaining prize money, and Jack was impatient of the inactivity to which he was condemned. It was all very well to keep the Fury spick and span, her deck as white as the sails, her brass rails polished to a dazzling brilliance; but he would have liked work a little less domestic—work for the two brass guns that Joe Turley caressed as though they were living creatures.

"Won't you venture over to the French side, sir?" Jack asked Lieutenant Blake one day. "We aren't doing any good hugging our own shore."

"No, I won't. I can't blockade a French port with a cutter of two guns. If we run too close to the French shore we might easily be snapped up, and for nothing at all. Besides, orders are orders. I've got mine as plain as a pikestaff, and I can't go beyond 'em."

Jack was disappointed, but clearly there was nothing to be said.

One evening the Fury was making toward Wynport. She had overhauled a suspicious looking brig passing down Channel, but found that she was a harmless Portuguese sailing in ballast.

"I know she was a Portuguese," said Joe Turley to his messmates on the forward deck. "But old Turnip-tops, of course he must take his Bible oath she was a Spaniard, and so we've wasted three or four hours, on the very night, too, when we're due at the Goat and Compasses."

It had been arranged that half the crew should have a night ashore at Wynport—the first since the Fury had spread her sails.

"True, old Sparrow-grass is a nuisance, though he's got a good heart. Here he comes."

The bo'sun came forward and joined the group.

"Well, messmates," he said, "we'll be late at the Goat and Compasses, and I'm sorry for that, but whenever I'm sorry I think of my brother Sol, who always says, 'Cheer ho! my hearty,' and slaps your back in a way that warms the very cockles of your heart. I remember—but what's that light?"

"What light, Mr. Babbage?" said one of the men.

"There, to larboard."

He pointed toward the shore. A strong light was shining intermittently, remaining steady for a few seconds, then disappearing, then flashing out again.

"'Tis a signal, sure enough," cried Turley; "but what for? That's the point."

"No, it ain't the point," said Babbage. "The point's a good deal east of that light, and it's Bantock Point."

"Well, I meant point in a manner of speaking. The light's at Luscombe; any one can see that."

"More like at Totley."

"I say Luscombe, Mr. Babbage," was the stubborn rejoinder.

"Totley, I say, and what I say I stick to, as brother Sol says."

"Ahoy, there!" called Jack from amidships. "What do you make of that light, Babbage?"

"Some one showing a signal from Totley, sir, two miles t'other side of Luscombe."

"No, it can't be at Totley. That's round a bend of the shore. It's at or near Luscombe itself. A smugglers' signal, eh?"

"Like as not, sir. They've been too quiet of late: a sure sign of something brewing, like a calm after a storm, as brother Sol might say."

"I'm pretty sure it's at Luscombe. But 'twill be rather hard to determine exactly in the darkness. Run her in a little toward shore, so that we can take a look at things."

A few minutes later the dim outlines of two prominent cliffs to the northeast and west-north-west respectively could be seen. Jack saw that he could determine the general direction of the light by those two well-known landmarks. Accordingly he ordered the cutter to be hove to; he then took its position with reference to the two cliffs, and the angle of the light. When this was done he went below and reported to Lieutenant Blake, who was enjoying a nap in his tiny cabin.

"You did very well, Hardy. We'll return to-morrow and test your observations. There's no confounded lugger or anything of that sort in sight, eh?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Well, I'll leave things to you. Run closer in shore, and keep a bright lookout. If there's nothing in sight, head her for Wynport, but keep a good offing off Bantock Point."

Carrying out these orders, Jack found that a mile farther in he lost sight of the light. He thought it worth while to run out again and see if it had disappeared altogether, but on returning to nearly the same spot at which the cutter had been hove to, he saw that the light was burning as brightly as ever. All at once it went out. Jack waited for some time to see if it reappeared, but the shore remaining in perfect blackness he saw no good in delaying further, and weathering the Point, with its spine of jagged rocks running out to sea, ran straight for Wynport.

They had not gone far when Babbage declared he saw a sail on the weather beam. Jack instantly put down the helm, but after cruising about for some time and finding nothing he concluded that the bo'sun had been mistaken.

"Another facer for old Onions!" whispered Turley.

At Wynport Mr. Blake put up at the Dolphin, leaving Jack on board. Early in the morning Jack met Mr. Goodman, the riding-officer, on his way to the inn. He had been informed, Goodman said, that the smugglers had made a run in the night, and that their cargo had been concealed somewhere about the premises of Gumley, the one-legged mariner on the hill. This news surprised Jack. It had never occurred to him that Gumley could have anything to do with the smugglers. But when he thought of Gumley's seclusion, his mysterious ways, the defenses of his cottage, and his bulldog, he began to wonder whether dust had been thrown in his eyes, and the apparently law-abiding gardener was after all engaged in the illicit trade. He told Lieutenant Blake what he knew of Gumley.

"Depend upon it, that's your man," cried that officer. "You'd better search his place, Mr. Goodman."

"Unluckily, sir, most of my men are off rummaging in another direction and won't be back till to-morrow."

"Well, I'll lend you some of my crew. And as you know the place, Mr. Hardy, I'll send you in charge."

"Very well, sir," said Jack, and he went off immediately to collect the men. Within half an hour he set out with a dozen of them, well armed with pikes and cutlasses. They marched through the fields and over the cliffs to Luscombe, avoiding the highroad. Arriving at Gumley's cottage, Jack rapped smartly on the gate and was answered as before by a furious barking from the dog. Gumley was some time in making his appearance, and Jack, becoming impatient, pulled off his coat, and hoisted himself on to the fence. Seeing who it was, Comely ceased to bark and wagged his tail in friendly recognition. Jack could not help feeling a little mean as he stooped and patted the dog's head, still more when Gumley appeared from the direction of the cottage, with his board in one hand and a fork in the other.

"Morning, sir," he said, with a smile. "I was looking for another visit from you."

"I'm afraid you won't think me very welcome this time, Gumley," said Jack gravely. "'Tis an unpleasant job, but I've got to search your place."

"My place, sir? And what do you expect to find?"

"'Tis reported that the smugglers ran a cargo ashore last night, and that you've got it, or part of it."

"Me! And you believe it, sir?"

"I don't know anything about it. My orders are to search, and I must do it. A dozen men are outside: you'd better open the gate and let them in."

"Very good, sir. But I must lock Comely up first, sir, else he'll leave the marks of his teeth somewhere. You're a friend of his; I introduced you proper myself, but I'll not introduce him to any preventive men that ought to know better than to come a-nosing round my little place. Who said as how 'twas here the smugglers brought their cargo, sir?"

"I don't know. Mr. Goodman heard it from some one."

"One of those villains down in the village, I'll be bound. Well, I might have expected it, sooner nor this. I tell you straight out, sir, never a shilling's worth of smuggled goods have passed my gate. I'm a king's man, leastwise was till I got my stump, and arter that I wouldn't demean myself by going a-smuggling. Howsomever, orders is orders, and search you must. I'll just tie up the dog, sir, and then open the gate, for Gumley bean't the man to shut his doors upon the king's orders."

Gumley's quiet manner made an impression on Jack, and he was half inclined to leave his errand unfulfilled. If the man had protested and blustered Jack would have been at once convinced that he was guilty, but his readiness to submit to the search was hardly that of a guilty man. Then it occurred to him that Gumley might be trying to throw dust in his eyes again. At all events, he could not return to Mr. Blake and confess that he had not carried out orders; so when the dog was secured and the men admitted he directed them to begin the search.

It was but the work of a few minutes to ransack the little cottage. Cupboards were opened, the stone flags of the floor tested, the loft between the rafters and the roof explored, but nothing was found. Gumley watched the operations in silence, puffing at a big pipe in which he was smoking cabbage leaves.

"We'll have to search the garden now, sir," said one of the men.

Gumley took his pipe from his lips.

"The garden!" he said. "Well, mind my artichokes. They bean't ripe, not till the first frost, and it won't do 'em no good to disturb 'em."

He knew that in expeditions of this kind every inch of ground would probably be explored. Smugglers had been known to have cunningly devised hiding-places beneath the soil, under the roots of apple trees, or pear trees, or raspberry bushes. He watched with a grim smile as the men spread out over the garden, falling on all fours to smell out any traces of brandy or tobacco. He said nothing when they dug over a plot of ground from which he had recently taken the last of his late potatoes. But when they approached a flourishing bed of artichokes he heaved a great sigh, and said:

"There goes two-pun-ten in Wynport market, and all in the king's name."

Jack had felt more and more uncomfortable as the search proceeded. When a square yard of the plot had been cleared of its tall green stalks he suddenly shouted:

"Give over, men. This is all a blind. There are no smuggled goods here. Gumley was a king's man like yourselves. I don't believe he has anything hidden; we'll sheer off and report to Mr. Blake that we can't find anything. Some one must have a spite against you, Gumley."

"I could have told you that, sir, but I keeps myself to myself, and 'twas not for me to stand up against the king's orders. Messmates all, I'm sorry you've had your blood warmed for nothing. Bless you, I don't bear you no ill-will; orders is orders, and God save the king!"

He took off his glazed hat as he spoke.

"Well, Gumley I'm sorry we disturbed you. Look here, take those artichokes up to the Grange when they're ripe and ask my cousin, the squire, to give you fifty shillings for them. Say I said so. Now, men, we'll get back. We owe the smugglers one for this, and we'll pay it back, all in good time."

CHAPTER VII

THE BEST-LAID SCHEMES

There was a good deal of grumbling among the men as they trudged back to Wynport. No man likes to be made a fool of, and a Jack Tar as little as any.

"This is what comes of doing landlubbers' work instead of fighting the French on sea," growled Turley.

A heavy rainstorm that came on did not improve their tempers, and when, just as they marched into Wynport, they were overtaken by Mr. Goodman, riding at a smart pace from a cross-road, they began to mutter uncomplimentary remarks about the zealous officer.

"Any luck, Mr. Hardy?" he cried, as he passed.

"None," replied Jack shortly.

"Sorry for that. Perhaps your search was not thorough enough: your men aren't used to it."

"Confound his impudence!" growled Turley, as the officer rode on. "One of us is worth three of his landsharks, anyway."

When Jack arrived at the Dolphin Mr. Goodman was just leaving.

"Oh, Hardy!" cried Lieutenant Blake, as he entered, "Mr. Goodman tells me you've found nothing."

"Not a ghost of a thing, sir. Gumley's as honest as a judge, in my opinion. Some one has played a scurvy trick on him and us."

"Well, look at this."

He handed Jack a dirty, crumpled piece of paper, on which he read:

"Mr. Goodman, sir, a runn will be made at binsey cove tonite.—From a frend."

"Another trick for certain, sir," said Jack.

"Very likely. Goodman says 'tis a sure sign the run will be made somewhere else, if made at all, and in the opposite direction. He wants the cutter to cruise off Totley Point to-night after dark. His idea is that if we stand away in the afternoon as if for Luscombe, we shall lead the smugglers off the scent; then if we return after nightfall we shall take 'em unawares. He'll have a strong force in hiding at Totley Point; that's where he thinks the run will actually be made, right under his nose. It would be like the villains. Only a year ago, just after he came into this district, he got a similar letter, and the cargo was run miles away."

"Well, sir, if he's been caught that way once, the smugglers will hardly expect him to fall into the trap a second time."

"I'm not so sure about that. I don't fancy our friend Goodman has much of a headpiece. If he is the simpleton I imagine he is, he will think that the smugglers will take your view and expect him to be this time at Binsey Cove. Therefore, he'll go to Totley. The question is, where will the run be made?"

"Perhaps the light we saw last night may have something to do with it. Don't you think, sir, it would be a good plan if I took a boat's crew and watched the shore off Luscombe, leaving you with the rest of the men in the Fury to assist Mr. Goodman in case of need?"

"Not a bad idea, Hardy. We'll drop a boat some distance out at sea at dusk; you can pull in with muffled oars if you come across anything suspicious."

"The first thing, sir, will be to find out about the light we saw."

"Right. Find Babbage and get the crew together. We'll be off at once."

When the Fury reached the position from which the light had been observed it was at once seen that, unless Jack had been wrong in his bearings, the signal had not been made from the village.

"It was more in the direction of Congleton's Hollow, sir," said Jack. "We can't see the Hollow itself, but there's the Folly to the left; you can just see it over the trees: a tower where an old hermit lived alone with his broken heart. That would make an excellent signal station."

"You know it, eh?"

"Yes, sir. But it didn't look as if it was ever used now. The only doorway is barricaded, and my young cousin told me it had been like that ever since he could remember. He said the top was supposed to be dangerous, and the place was boarded up after an accident that happened ever so many years ago. There was no other way in; the youngster—an inquisitive little chap—has tried more than once, and always failed."

"Humph! Is it worth trying again?"

"I'd be mighty glad to see, sir. But I couldn't do it in daylight. I might be seen from the village. Yet I could hardly do much good at night unless some one happened to be there at the time."

"Well, we can't risk discovery. We don't want to scare the signalers away."

"Wouldn't it be best to land some distance down the coast one night, and get to the Folly about daybreak? I'd have the place to myself then."

"Right. We'll bide our time. Meanwhile, there's this anonymous letter to remember. I gave out at Wynport that we're going to run over to Weymouth; perhaps that will put our smuggling friends at Luscombe off the scent."

The Fury kept away all day, returning to a point opposite Luscombe after nightfall. Lieutenant Blake told off Babbage and Turley and eight more of the men to accompany Jack, and, a boat being lowered and provided with muffled oars, the little party set off, while the Fury set a course for Totley Point, where Mr. Goodman had a posse of preventive men on the watch.

It was more than an hour and a half's steady rowing to the shore, and Jack was not at all sure where he would strike the beach. Thinking over the likely places along the shore, he felt certain that the run would probably be attempted at a spot not far east of the path up which he had followed De Fronsac. He wished the smugglers to get there before him, for if the vessel they expected had not yet arrived, they would be keeping a good watch seaward, and his boat would run a great risk of being discovered. But he had found out that Turley was born at Wynport and knew the coast pretty well, having spent several years as a fisherman in the neighborhood, so that he was likely to recognize any landmarks as soon as they came in view.

It was a still night, and very dark. The oars made scarcely any noise as the men pulled steadily in toward the shore. At last Turley declared that he could just see the copse that crowned a chine leading down to the beach, near the path that Jack had followed.

"You're sure, Turley?" asked Jack in a whisper.

"Sartin sure, sir."

"He've got cat's eyes, sir," murmured Babbage.

"We need them to-night," said Jack, peering anxiously into the darkness. "Easy all, men."

He listened for sounds along the shore or from the sea. The breeze was very slight; it had become less as the boat neared the shore; and if it continued to die away there would soon be scarcely enough wind to carry a vessel in.

"We're about half a mile off, I think, Turley?"

"Just so, sir," replied Turley.

Jack was about to give the order to pull in a little closer when the man just in front of him, who was facing seaward like the other rowers, raised one hand from his oar, and pointing to the right said in a whisper:

"Sail on the larboard quarter, sir."

Glancing backward in the direction indicated, Jack could just distinguish in the distance a black shape gliding slowly up. He felt his heart jumping; the vessel had come so suddenly, so stealthily out of the blackness. Could his boat be seen from its deck? It was so low on the water that he hoped it might pass undetected. The men were crouching over their oars; there was dead silence in the boat, the crew scarcely daring to breathe. The dark shape came steadily on; it passed, and faded again into the darkness. Allowing time for it to get nearly in shore, Jack ordered the men to give way, and the boat again quickly moved landward. He knew he was risking discovery, but hoped that the attention of the watchers on shore would be directed on the larger vessel, and altogether overlook the smaller.

The coast hereabouts was rocky, and the approach to the shore had to be made with care. Jack heard low voices ahead; he guessed that the people on shore were giving directions to those on the vessel.

"Channel's narrow, sir," whispered Turley, "but there's a good depth of water at all states of the tide; 'tis nigh high tide now, and that there craft'll be able to run almost on to the beach and save a good deal of fetching and carrying."

"How far are we out now?"

"About a couple of cables' length, to my thinking, sir."

"Easy all, men. Cutlasses ready!"

Jack had already decided that it would be useless to attempt to land at any point on either side and creep on the smugglers, for there would certainly be watchers along the cliff. The attack, if made at all, must be made direct from the sea. He feared that, when the men gave way for a final dash in, the boat might strike a rock; but he could still see dimly the chase ahead, and the tide being high, as Turley had said, he resolved to take his chance of running aground. The boat had followed quickly in the wake of the larger vessel; with a little luck a straight dash might be quite successful, for where the smugglers' craft drew feet, his own scarcely drew inches, and he was so much excited at the prospect of his first encounter with the smugglers, that he was prepared to run no little risk.

Suddenly there was the sound of a sail being run down, of tackle creaking, of low voices. The smugglers worked quickly, he knew; the vessel would scarcely have anchored or otherwise made fast before they began to carry their cargo ashore. The moment was come. He caught his breath for an instant; then, gripping the tiller ropes firmly, he said:

"Now, men, lay out—send her along!"

The sounds of the muffled oars were smothered in the noise from the lugger and the men tramping on shore. So intent were the smugglers on their work that they were unaware of what was upon them. The boat dashed straight for the lugger, which had swung round so that her bow was first met. There was a shock; then a loud shout; and as Jack's men swarmed over on to the lugger's deck, they came face to face with a small knot of men at the foremast, who had evidently hurriedly collected to dispute the passage with the boarders.

Now shout answered shout. Barrels were dropped by the carriers and fell with sharp thuds on the deck or with loud splashes into the water. Cutlass clashed on cutlass. At the first alarm the men on shore came dashing back to rejoin their comrades, springing across the long double plank that formed the gangway, to a bold ledge of rock serving as a kind of natural quay.

"Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack, rushing forward.

He was answered by a vigorous French oath. Next moment the foremost of the smugglers, singling out the young officer coming at the head of his men, aimed a shrewd blow at him with a cutlass. It was so dark that Jack could barely see the movement, but he just managed to swerve out of the way; then, shortening his arm he lunged, and felt with no little satisfaction that the weapon had got home.

At this moment he was almost carried off his feet by the vehemence of his own men, who in a compact body were sweeping all before them. In the rush and tumble Jack felt a heavy blow on his head and staggered, saving his fall by clutching at a halyard and leaning half-stunned against the mast.

To the din of shouting and blows was now added the shrill screech of the bo'sun's whistle. Having cleared the deck aft of the mainmast, Babbage and his men were making a dash for the gangway, upon which the smugglers were crowding back toward the lugger. But Babbage's zeal had outrun his discretion. Before he knew it his party was beset on all sides. French and English cries were mingled in one furious babel. No firearms were used; the sound of shots would carry far in the still night air, and might bring support to the king's men from a distance. But cutlasses and hangers were plied with vigor; the crew of the lugger, reinforced by the men from shore, outnumbered Jack's party by four to one, and these had much ado to defend themselves in their turn from the sturdy assaults of their opponents.

With an effort Jack pulled himself together and pressed forward to lend a hand. His men were being remorselessly driven back. Doggedly they fought, yielding only inch by inch; but it was clear that they were outmatched, and at length, by sheer weight of numbers, they were forced over the bulwarks into the sea. Turley, who had all his wits about him, contrived to cut the painter holding the boat to the lugger's side; and, hardly aware how he came there, Jack found himself hanging to the side of the boat, unable to do more than cling on for dear life. Two or three men managed to scramble into the boat; they rowed it ashore. When it beached, Jack and the men ran up across the shingle toward the cliffs. In a few minutes they were joined by others of their party, all dripping wet, and furious with rage at their defeat.

"'Tis all through old Turnip-tops," growled Turley. "The idea of his losing his head that way!"

"Anybody seen him?" asked Jack, whose teeth were chattering; he had not yet recovered from the blow on his head.

"Never a man, sir. But there's the lugger making sail. We've lost the cargo and got nothing for our pains but broken heads and such like."

Jack saw the dim shape of the lugger disappearing seaward. In five minutes every trace of the smugglers had vanished, except a broken keg or two on the shingle, from which gusts of the odor of spirits reached the men gathered in a knot above. By and by Babbage turned up, declaring that if it hadn't been for Turley the attack would have been a great success. Before long the party was complete, none having been killed, though several had had a narrow escape from drowning. They had been saved by the planks of the gangway, which the smugglers, in their haste to escape, had allowed to fall into the water.

Jack wondered why the smugglers had fled when it would have been an easy matter for them to overwhelm the king's men.

"Why, they were afeard, sir," said Babbage. "The noise was enough to bring all Dorset upon 'em, and how did they know but that the riding-officer was nigh, ready to come down on 'em? And so he ought to ha' bin."

"Well, they've let us off easily," said Jack. "We'd better get our boat afloat and hunt for the Fury."

"Ay, sir, and won't Mr. Blake be in a fury when he hears the tale! All we've got is cuts, bruises, and a ducking!"

CHAPTER VIII

CONGLETON'S FOLLY

It was several hours before the boat fell in with the Fury. Jack and the men were heartily glad when they saw the cutter's mast-head light. They scrambled on board, and while the men had to stand a good deal of rough chaff from their messmates, Jack's account of his failure was received by Lieutenant Blake with a quizzical smile.

"Ah, my boy, we have to take the rough with the smooth," was all that officer said. "I suppose you don't feel in very good trim for that little expedition you proposed?"

"Indeed, sir, I'm ready for anything. I must change my things and have the best supper the cook can give me; then you can put me on shore when you please. I've got a bone to pick with those rascals."

Consequently, about half an hour before dawn, Jack was landed at a spot about two miles east of Congleton's Folly. Lieutenant Blake arranged that the boat should be in waiting for him three or four hours later some two miles farther east, at a little cove which was fairly well sheltered from observation.

"Keep your weather eye open," were the lieutenant's parting words.

Jack climbed the cliff and arrived at the Hollow just as dawn was breaking. It was a misty morning; the shrubs and grass were thickly besprinkled with frost; and he was glad he had taken the precaution to wear a greatcoat of frieze, which kept him warm in spite of the nipping air.

He came to the Folly, and took a more careful look at it than he had done when he visited the spot with Arthur. It was a brick tower, about sixty feet high, built somewhat like a lighthouse, but four-sided, not rounded. The base was about twenty feet square; the tower tapered to within a few feet of the top, where it broadened out so that it looked not unlike a mushroom on a particularly long stalk.

On the side facing the sea was the doorway giving access, as Arthur had told him, to a spiral staircase leading to the single chamber above. This overhanging part was supported by stout oaken beams resting on the brickwork of the central tower. On the inland side, in the floor of this room, there was a trap-door opening inward; it was through this that the late Congleton had been accustomed to hoist his provisions. The summit of the room was crowned by a parapet, crenelated like the walls of a fort.

The door, as Jack had already seen, was strongly barricaded. On the inner face of the tower, less exposed than the others to the sea winds, ivy had grown more than half-way up, and from this a number of sparrows flew rustling out when Jack appeared.

He walked round and round examining the tower from every point of view. What a strange man Congleton must have been to choose this lonely spot in which to pass so many years of a solitary existence! Jack closely inspected the doorway. The wood was worm-eaten, the heads of the iron nails thick with rust, and the barricading had been so thoroughly done that it would take a long time to free the entrance. It was quite clear that no one had gone either in or out for many years. Yet, if the tower had indeed been used for signaling, as he suspected, there must be a way in. Where was it?

He might have thought he was mistaken but for the marks of many feet around the base of the turret. The grass had recently been trampled down, especially on the inland side. Could there be another entrance, concealed by the ivy? He pulled the strong tendrils aside, and more birds came twittering out; but there was no sign of a second door. Somewhat perplexed, Jack raised his eyes and scanned the brickwork above, which the ivy had not yet reached. There was the wooden trap-door, let in the floor of the turret chamber, and a foot or two of rusty chain hanging down.

"That must have been part of old Congleton's machinery for hoisting his stores," thought Jack. "I wonder if the trap-door is fastened."

It was quite clear that it opened inward, for there was no sign of a bolt outside. When the room was last used a bolt inside might have been slipped. If not, the trap-door could be opened from below. But how could it be reached? Only by a ladder, apparently. Was there a ladder hidden somewhere among the trees? He saw no other means of gaining the summit, for while the ivy was strong enough to bear his weight for a good many feet up, the brickwork above was smooth, in spite of the weathering it had undergone, and offered no grip for hands or feet.

"I must look for that ladder," he thought. But after spending at least half an hour in searching the surrounding thicket he almost gave up the problem in despair. There was no sign of a ladder, and he had searched so carefully that one of the requisite length could not have escaped his eyes, however well hidden. What could he do? He did not like the idea of being beaten; especially as he had already failed once in his contest with the smugglers. Just then there seemed nothing for it but to go back to the boat, and perhaps bring a number of handy men from the cutter to break open the doorway. But before doing that he would have one more look.

He returned to the tower. The mist was clearing somewhat. Once more he scanned each face of the tower in turn. And now he noticed, on the inland side, what had escaped him before. On the brickwork between the ivy and the chamber there were a number of small apertures dotted about, forming a kind of pattern—a spiral. The holes could not have come by accident, for they appeared to be at equal distances apart. He counted ten on the bare portion of the brickwork, and, looking intently, believed he caught sight of one more where the screen of ivy thinned off.

His curiosity was now thoroughly awakened. What was the meaning of these holes? Were there more, concealed beneath the ivy? He pulled the strands of the plant aside, and with eye and hand examined the wall. There were no more holes, but what was this? He grasped an iron staple firmly imbedded in the brickwork; and three feet above, surely that was another!

"Oho, my hearties!" he thought; "have I got you at last?"

Setting his foot on the lower staple he hoisted himself up, pulled aside the ivy above his head, and found, as by this time he expected, still another staple. Without more ado he began to climb, nimbly, eagerly, until he had to stop, for he had come almost to the top of the ivy, and there were no more staples! What was to be done now?

True, there were no more staples, but three feet above the last was the lowest of the holes that had attracted his attention. He was able to examine it. A circular hole, seemingly drilled with some care; he put his finger in, but could not touch the end of it. And it appeared to be bored at a downward angle with the face of the wall. He felt that he must find out how long it was, though for the moment he did not see what good the information would be to him. Descending quickly, he found a long twig, and climbing up again, he inserted it into the hole. About a foot of the twig went into the wall.

"The hole is made to receive a movable step, or I'm a Dutchman," he said to himself. "It's long enough, and it's bored downward to prevent the step from slipping out. A mighty clever notion! The holes must have cost a deal of work, for the fellow who bored them must have been pretty awkwardly placed. I wonder if they were made by old Congleton, or after his time. Now what I want to know is, where are those steps?"

Once more he descended. The steps, wherever they were, were probably made of iron, and there must be about a dozen of them. Where were they? Were they carried backwards and forwards between the tower and the house of the person who used them? That seemed hardly likely. It was much more probable that they were hidden somewhere near at hand.

Jack hunted about the neighboring thickets. He might easily have overlooked small objects when searching for the ladder. But after what seemed a long time he still found no trace of them. Determined not to give up his quest, he was wondering how best he could make steps for himself when he caught sight of the summer-house, about two hundred yards away, where he had found the wounded lace-peddler.

"That's the place to rummage!" he thought.

He hastened to the summer-house. There were two rooms. Part of the roof had fallen in over one of them, and, encouraged by the marks of muddy boots about the doorway, Jack decided to search there first. The room was bare; he turned over the debris on the floor; nothing rewarded his efforts. But there was the chimney, a wide square recess in the wall; he would try that.

He almost shouted for joy when, far back in the opening, he came upon the object of his quest—a pile of rusty iron implements that seemed exactly suited for the purpose. They were stout rods about a foot long, with a loop at the end that might serve either as a hand-grip or a step. And the loop was at just such an angle with the rod as would correspond with the apertures in the walls.

There were a dozen in all. Gathering them, no light weight, into his arms, he returned to the tower, and with two of the rods climbed up by the staples and tried one in the first hole. It fitted exactly. He fixed the second, then descended for the others. Being a sailor he knew how to avoid unnecessary expenditure of time; he slung the rest of the fittings over his shoulder with his handkerchief, and carried them up with him once for all.

By their aid he mounted to the top of the tower, and found himself just below the trap-door. But it was not quite within reach. There was the hanging chain, however, coming through a hole in the floor; would that stand a tug? He made the attempt, intending to hoist himself up with one hand, and push with the other against the trap-door. But he found that when he exerted a little force the chain moved; it seemed hardly safe to trust to it. He was about to let it go when he noticed that the trap-door seemed to have risen slightly. Again he pulled at the chain, using more force. It gave to his tug, and as it descended he saw the trap-door open slowly upward. The chain at length stuck; the door was wide open, and a rough rope-ladder was hanging some ten feet below the hole.

Jack found that if he eased the pressure on the chain the trap-door tended to fall back. It was a simple matter to prevent this, for, just at his hand, there was a staple to which the chain could be hooked; it was evidently intended for that purpose. To swing himself on to the ladder was the simplest of feats, and in half a minute he had climbed through the open trap and stood in the turret.

"A fine old musty smell, that's what first struck me," he said afterward. "The dust of ages; cobwebs galore. Only one window, looking seaward, and that shut fast. 'Twas stifling to a fellow used to the fresh air. There was a ramshackle old bedstead in one corner; a four-poster, with a canopy and crimson hangings; at least, they had been crimson; the dust was so thick on 'em that I couldn't see what the color was till I'd rubbed a bit of it off. That was where the old eccentric breathed his last, I suppose; and no one thought it worth carting away. In the middle of the room was a deal table and a chair with a broken back; not another stick of furniture.

"But in the corner near the window I saw something that told a tale—a pile of kegs, almost reaching to the low roof. 'Empty or full?' thought I. I lifted one; it was full. I knew they weren't old Congleton's property, or they'd have disappeared with the rest of his furniture. How did I know he had any? Why, because I noticed nails on the wall, where pictures had hung, and a clean patch on one of the walls—cleaner than the rest, that is—where a bureau or something of the sort had stood. Besides, no man who'd have a mahogany bedstead and hangings that once were splendid would have been likely to be satisfied with a deal table and a common rickety chair. They were the kind of things you'd expect in a plowman's or a fisherman's kitchen.

"At any rate, I saw that somebody had used the room since Congleton departed this life, for there were some crumbs on the table, and a chipped tumbler that smelt uncommonly like the kegs. Ghosts don't eat bread and cheese and drink spirits! And there was a coil of rope under the table, and by the window a cheap sort of curtain that just fitted. I held it up to see; right in the middle of it was a round hole. And when I came to look at the bed I saw that the mattress had a big dent in it, and no dust on it. Somebody had had a nap there since old Congleton died.

"Of course I saw all this in a very few seconds. Then I went on the prowl. I pulled out the bedstead; by George! didn't it creak! I thought the old thing would fall to pieces. Behind it was a cupboard, and in the cupboard a large bull's-eye lantern, and a long cylinder of cardboard about eighteen inches long. 'What's that for?' I thought. It didn't strike me at the moment, but I took the things out and put them on the table. The lamp leaked a little; I found I'd got some spots of oil on my breeches.

"When I put them on the table I noticed something I'd missed before. In the middle was a sort of pattern in red chalk—a circle with a tail to it; and at the edge of the table two parallel strokes. They'd been done some time, for the marks in the middle were almost hidden by oil stains. Those stains puzzled me for a bit. I could have understood wine stains better. But at last I tumbled to it. That was the place where the lamp was put for the signaling. I set it down on the circular mark; it just fitted. But I could not make out at first what the two straight strokes at the edge were for. Then I caught sight of the roll of cardboard and another idea struck me. I lifted it and stuck it on the bull's-eye; it fitted like a glove; and when I turned the lantern so that the handle was over the tail of the circle I found that the cylinder just reached to the two marks.

"But that only puzzled me more than ever, for the lantern and cylinder were now pointing straight at old Congleton's bed. Would you believe it?—I didn't at first think of turning the table round! Of course it wasn't a fixture, and when I did think of it I saw through the whole scheme. Turned round, the lantern pointed through the window. The cylinder was a clever notion. It would prevent the light from the bull's-eye spreading, so that while it would be seen a good distance out at sea, it wouldn't attract notice in the neighborhood, except that a faint glow might be seen from below. But the Folly wasn't in sight from the village, and there'd be precious few of the ordinary country folk who'd care to be near the spot after dark. They'd be in mortal fear of seeing old Congleton's ghost.

"I was still a little puzzled. What need was there to mark the place of the lantern so exactly. Anywhere near the window the light would be seen clearly enough out at sea. But now that I had moved the table I noticed four red marks on the floor. 'Here's another discovery,' I thought; 'there's a mark for each leg of the table.' I slewed it around again, so that the legs stood on the marks. Then it flashed on me; if the table was always in the same place, and the lantern always exactly on the marks, the light would always hit the same point out at sea. 'A very pretty scheme!' says I to myself. 'Good master smugglers have all their wits about 'em.'

"It was clear as daylight now that the Folly was a signal-station, and sometimes, as the kegs showed, a storehouse as well. Of course they used old Congleton's machinery for hoisting the kegs. That coil of rope, now! I pulled it over, and there, just underneath, was a pulley—an iron bar fitted with a small grooved wheel, and resting at each end on a wooden block; little grooves had been chiseled out to keep the bar steady. And when I came to look at 'em I saw, as I might have expected, that they'd been oiled not long before.

"By this time I'd found out all I wished to know. The only thing left to be discovered was, who used the Folly? I made up my mind to get Lieutenant Blake to let me bring some men to the place one night when we saw the light, and catch the men in the act. But before I went away I thought I'd go down the staircase and see if there was anything there. I couldn't find a door, yet the staircase must lead direct into the room; there was no other. I had another look at the cupboard, and found after some trouble that half the back of it was movable—it was a sliding panel. I pulled it aside; it moved quite easily; and I stepped through—carefully, I can tell you, for it was pitch dark.

"I got on to the staircase, and went down gingerly, a step at a time. It was wooden, and the stairs were pretty rotten; they creaked as I moved, and I clung on to a rope that made a sort of hand-rail, afraid of pitching head first to the bottom. It smelled very close, and I took some time to go down, for the stairs were narrow, and as it was a winding staircase they scarcely gave foothold except at the wall end. At last I got to the bottom, and then I saw a glint or two of light coming through chinks in the doorway.

"I had only just got there when I fancied I heard a rustling outside. 'Mercy me!' I thought; 'this isn't signaling time; but I hope no one is coming for the kegs.' I scrambled up the staircase a good deal quicker than I picked my way down, and crawled through the hole in the cupboard. Then I nearly jumped out of my skin, for I saw a man sitting on the rickety chair. It was Monsieur de Fronsac."

CHAPTER IX

CLOSE QUARTERS

"Ah, Monsieur Jack!" said De Fronsac, with his agreeable smile; "I see you!" Jack laughed. It was only the Frenchman after all! His fear that it might be a smuggler was groundless.

"Yes; I'm too black for a ghost; 'tis a confoundedly dirty place, Monsieur. But how do you come here?"

"It is ver' simple, ver' simple indeed. I came out in de early morning, to promenade myself, and to compose a new sonnet on de Monstair. Behold! Vat do I see? De trap-door of dis tower is open; and, vat is dis?—assuredly I see steps mounting up to de very sommit. I am romantic, as you know, Monsieur; I love de bizarre. Can I venture myself? Dat old Congleton—vat a strange, an eccentric! I vould like to see de place vere he lived so solitaire. I climb; I have a little fear; but I make de ascension; I arrive. Ho! Dis, den, is de place. Vat a magnificent spot for to compose poesy! How beautiful de spectacle over de blue, blue sea! Magnificent! Glorious! Old Congleton had a genius, hein? But you, Monsieur Jack, how came you here?"

"The same way as you, Monsieur."

"Ah! remarkable! You do not compose poesy in de early morning! You, I t'ink—and your good cousin t'inks—you sail on de blue, blue sea. De steps, too; surely dey are new. Never have I observed dem before. It is remarkable! Old Congleton—did he ascend de tower in dat manner? Or perhaps de steps are your vork; you invent dem, Monsieur Jack?"

"No," said Jack shortly. He had never liked De Fronsac's smile.

"Den of whom? Who invent dem? Dey demand much care and skill; yes, and industry. And for vat good to spend so much time? It vould be easier to valk up de stairs—if de door is open, of course dat is understood. But truly it is more romantic—it has more of de fun, as you English say, to mount on de outside, on little steps, from hand to foot, vun may say. Yes, and if in my youth I had not lived much among de sailors of my little village, assuredly I should not have had de courage to make an attempt so perilous. Ve sailors, indeed, have de firm leg, de fixed eye."

De Fronsac's eye was certainly fixed—on Jack, who had an uncomfortable feeling that the Frenchman was not only trying to find out from his manner what he had discovered, but was talking to gain time. He was resolving to cut the interview short, when De Fronsac, turning round suddenly, appeared to catch sight for the first time of the kegs.

"Ah! Voila! Ve have it! Dose barrels Monsieur Jack—you see dem? Dey are put dere vizout doubt by dese smogglairs. Ah! de rascals! Certainly ve must tell your good cousin, Monsieur Bastable. He vill know de means to take. He vill come, and take an inventaire. Certainly dat is vat ve must do. You come viz me; ve both tell him; ve go at vunce."

"Very well," said Jack. "We'll go down. Will you go first?"

"I t'ink better you."

"But I opened the trap-door. You won't know how to shut it. You go first and I'll see that it is properly closed."

"Ver' vell. It is a good idea."

De Fronsac accordingly stepped on to the rope-ladder, and descended with a rapidity that seemed to show he had indeed had no little experience amongst seamen. Jack followed, closed the trap-door, and, as he went down, threw the iron steps one by one to the ground, where the Frenchman stood awaiting him.

"Now vat shall ve do viz dem?" asked De Fronsac, when Jack stood beside him. "It vas you dat discovered dem, Monsieur Jack. It is to you to decide vat ve do. It is right. You vill get great honor viz Monsieur Bastable, and de Lor' Lieutenant, I t'ink you call de great man of de county."

Jack did not wish to return the steps to their original hiding-place. It would be better, he thought, to hide them among the bushes. Accordingly with De Fronsac's assistance he carried them into the thicket, and concealed them under a heap of dead leaves.

"Now ve go to de Grange?" said the Frenchman.

"Yes. We shall be rather early; Mr. Bastable will not be up yet."

He intended to keep De Fronsac in sight until he had an opportunity of sending a messenger to the boat for a number of men to remove the kegs. He did not feel sure that the Frenchman's visit to the tower was so accidental as he declared; and a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush.

They made their way through the undergrowth. With the frost the trees had now lost nearly all their leaves, which thickly covered the grass. Jack led the way, the Frenchman following a yard or two behind, maintaining a running fire of small talk, to which Jack replied with an occasional monosyllable. On the edge of the Hollow they entered a dense copse; there was a sudden rustle, and half a dozen rough-clad men with blackened faces sprang from behind the trees. Jack's hand flew to his breast-pocket where he kept his pistol, but before he could draw it, De Fronsac caught his arm, crying:

"Save me, Monsieur Jack, save me!"

In spite of his apparent alarm, his grasp was so firm that Jack was quite unable to draw his weapon.

"Let me go!" he cried angrily, trying to shake himself free. But De Fronsac clung to him still more desperately, repeating his cry "Save me!" In another moment the men were upon him. Then at last the Frenchman let go his hold, and Jack found himself in the grip of two stalwart fishers. He struggled violently, but in vain, and in a few seconds more he was lying on the ground securely gagged and bound.

Then his eyes were bandaged, he was blindfolded, lifted, and carried rapidly for some distance. When he was set down and the bandage removed from his eyes, he saw that he was in an underground chamber, dimly lit through a barred grating in the roof. He tried to speak, but his words were choked by the gag.

"Now you listen to me," said one of the men, whose voice he thought he recognized. "'Taint no good shouting or struggling. We've got ye firm, Mr. Hardy, king's officer though ye be. So long as you give us no trouble you'll take no harm. I'm gwine to ease that there gag; but if you shout, I'll clap it on again and keep it there. That's plain. Not that it be any good shouting, for there's never a soul hereabout but the men who'll guard ye."

Jack was not so foolish as to spend his strength and his breath uselessly. He saw that he was helpless, and mentally vowed to be even with De Fronsac at the first opportunity. Suspicious before, he now felt certain that the Frenchman had deliberately trapped him, though he was amazed to find that the poetical tutor was a smuggler.

He remained throughout the day in the under-ground room, guarded all the time by one man, who sat by the grating and refused to be drawn into any talk. He was given some bread and cheese, and spirits and water to drink; and he spent the long hours in wondering what was to become of him, and in relishing beforehand the punishment he meant to administer to De Fronsac some day. To think of escape was vain; the men had evidently brought him down by a ladder, which they had drawn up when they left, closing and bolting the trap-door.

Who were they? Jack wondered. What was their real connection with De Fronsac? What would they do with him? What would Babbage and the men at the boat do when he did not return? What steps would Lieutenant Blake take when he found, as he must soon do, that his midshipman was missing? There was no doubt that the smugglers would promptly remove the kegs and the signaling apparatus from the Folly, and they would have plenty of time to get clear away before the boat's crew became suspicious.

Late in the afternoon, as Jack guessed by the dimness of the light through the grating, he heard voices above. A heavy object was dropped on the floor; the trap-door was lifted, a ladder let down, and three men descended into the room.

"You be coming along of us," said the man who had before addressed him.

"Look here, whoever you are—" Jack began; but he said no more, for the gag was roughly thrust into his mouth, he was once more blindfolded, and taken up the ladder. Then he was lifted from the floor and lowered into what he judged to be a large empty water-butt.

"Double up your knees, Mr. Hardy," said the man. "You be going a little journey."

There was no help for it. Jack feeling, as he afterward said, like a trussed turkey, sat crouching in the butt. The top was hammered on. Then the butt was lifted, carried a few steps, and hoisted on to a cart, which rumbled away. Jack was more angry than alarmed; the men evidently intended him no harm, or they would have knocked him on the head before this; but a water-butt, even though holes have been bored in its sides to let in air, is not the most comfortable of vehicles, and Jack was beginning to feel cramped and bruised and half-stifled when the cart stopped. The butt was lowered, not too gently; Jack was pretty well shaken up. But his former experience was pleasant compared with his sensations when the butt was rolled round and round on its lower edge, as he had seen draymen rolling barrels of beer. His head fairly swam by the time the teetotum movement ceased.

Then he heard voices again, and the creaking of tackle.

"I'm at the shore," he thought. "Surely they're not going to set me afloat!" The idea of going adrift in a water-butt made him feel seasick, till he remembered that it was impossible; the butt would fill with water, and if they wished to drown him they would not have taken so much trouble.

"Why, 'Zekiel," he heard a man say, "was your tub leaking?"

"A trifle, but we've bunged it up; 'tis all shipshape and seaworthy now."

"'Tis mortal heavy, blamed if 'tisn't."

"Course it is; 'tis well-nigh full."

Two or three low chuckles followed this sentence. Then the butt was rolled up what seemed to be a gradual incline, and dropped a foot or two with a bump that set Jack's bones clashing.

"I'm on a boat," he thought, "this is a voyage of adventure. Wish to goodness I could knock the top off this cage of mine and get a little air."

As if in answer to his wish, a few minutes later, when he felt by the motion that the boat was putting out to sea, the lid was knocked off, the gag removed, and he drew a long breath of relief.

"I say, you men," he said, in a husky voice that sounded like that of a stranger, "undo my eyes and hands, and let me out."

There was no answer. He remained in his cramped and uncomfortable quarters for some hours, his repeated requests to be taken out passing unheeded. He began to feel very low-spirited. His body ached all over; his hands were still bound; and the butt was so narrow that he could hardly shift his position by an inch. His chief feeling was no longer rage against De Fronsac, but an intense longing to stretch himself. And then, strange as it appeared to him, he began to feel sleepy.

He was wakened from a half-doze by a loud hail, answered by a fainter one from a distance. A few seconds later he was released from the butt, and lowered, still bound, over the side of the vessel into a smaller boat. The boat did not go far; after a few strokes of the oars Jack felt a slight bump; he was unceremoniously hoisted again; and when at last his eyes and hands were unbound, and he had recovered the use of his sight, he found himself on board a lugger, whose crew had the swarthy faces and red caps of French fishermen. Greetings were exchanged between the men of the two vessels; then the French lugger made sail and stood out into mid-channel.

Jack was too much relieved at having recovered his freedom to mind where he was going. For a time he had not even the curiosity to ask; it was quite enough to breathe freely, and use his eyes and stretch his limbs. But night was drawing on, and when a meager supper was brought to him he asked in French for what port the vessel was making.

"No port, Monsieur," replied the man with a grin.

"Well, what place, then?"

"Where the captain commands, Monsieur."

"And where does the captain command? Speak out, man."

"Only the captain knows, Monsieur."

Jack gave it up. The man's answers were perfectly polite, but it was evident he had received orders to tell nothing. Jack was taken below and made fairly comfortable. When morning dawned and he was allowed to go on deck there was no land in sight. But about midday a coast-line came into view, and in the evening, after beating about for hours, a strong land wind keeping the lugger off shore, the skipper managed to run into a little cove beneath high cliffs. It was a wild part of the Norman coast; there were no dwellings where the lugger ran ashore; and Jack had to tramp for several miles among the Frenchmen, over a rough road, before they arrived at a little fishing hamlet. Here he had to share a pallet bed in the auberge with one of the fishermen, two others occupying a similar bed at the other side of the room.

Jack and his bedfellow both found it difficult to sleep, and the Frenchman proved more loquacious than any of the others. He could speak no English save a few words, and his French was so broad a dialect that Jack, who knew little French at the best, was often at a loss to understand him. But he understood enough to learn that he had been kept in an underground chamber near the Hollow until the time came when a boat might put off, ostensibly for night fishing, really to convey the prisoner to the French lugger, the whereabouts of which would be known to the Luscombe smugglers. He had been carried on board the boat from the cart openly at Luscombe quay.

"Whose boat was it?"

"It was to a man—Monsieur might know him—who calls himself Goujon."

"No, I don't know anybody of that name. Who is he?"

"He is Goujon; that is all."

"Is he a fisherman? What is he like?"

"I have never seen him, Monsieur. For myself, I have never put foot to land in England. But the captain knows him; ah, yes! the captain knows Goujon."

And Jack at last went to sleep, wondering who Goujon could be.

CHAPTER X

A PRISONER OF FRANCE

Next morning Jack was awakened early and told that he must march.

"Very happy," he said, "but where to?"

He had recovered his spirits. No misfortunes, no bufferings, can long depress a healthy boy of sixteen. Consequently when he learned that he was to tramp to Boulogne, more than fifty miles away, he received the information with a smile. His chief thought was: "Perhaps I shall see that Monstair, Boney himself!" The prospect of a fifty-mile walk in keen, bright weather did not daunt him.

He was accompanied by the skipper of the lugger and several of the men. Now that they were on French soil they had lost their reluctance to talk, and before many miles had been covered Jack was chatting as freely as his command of the language permitted, and laughing at the misunderstandings that occurred on both sides. He learned one fact that made him feel sorry. A few days before, Admiral Keith had exploded some vessels among a hundred and fifty of the French praams at their anchorage outside the pier at Boulogne. But this attempt to destroy the flotilla had not succeeded, the vessels having been separated by distances too wide for the explosion to have the destructive effect intended. The French smugglers were much elated at Admiral Keith's failure, and amused Jack by their confident assertion that before long Bonaparte, or the Emperor Napoleon, as he was beginning to be called, would make himself King of England.

Boulogne was reached at the end of the second day's march. Jack was taken to a commissary of the forces. He did not learn till some time afterward what story the skipper told. It was to the effect that his lugger, while making for Boulogne from St. Malo, had been becalmed off Barfleur, within sight of an English frigate which lay about two miles astern. A boat had been sent from the frigate to capture the lugger. Attempting to board, the English crew had been driven back with severe loss, and this young officer, who had been foremost of the boarding party, had been left in the Frenchmen's hands.

Whether the commissary believed the story Jack never knew. Certainly it was acted upon. He was handed over to the keeper of the town prison, and lodged in the cells below the old belfry tower. Next day, however, he was removed and conveyed under a guard a few miles westward toward Etaples. As he left the belfry with other prisoners amid an escort of gendarmes, he saw riding up the hill towards Wimereux a group of horsemen, led by a stout little soldier in brilliant uniform. The gendarmes saluted; the little man gave a curt and careless acknowledgment, and cantered on. It was Bonaparte himself, riding to review the army he was collecting for the invasion of England. Jack recognized him by his likeness to the caricatures he had seen at home.

"'Tis something to have seen the wonderful Boney!" he thought.

Not far from Etaples he was placed with a number of other prisoners, all English seamen, in an old château about a mile from the sea. It had evidently been at one time a pleasant country-house, but from its partly dilapidated condition Jack inferred that it had suffered during the revolutionary riots thirteen or fourteen years before. It was now used as an overflow prison, the regular prisons of the town being filled. The English prisoners in France always outnumbered the French prisoners in England, owing to the greater enterprise of English seamen, which often led them to attempt impossible feats and threw them into the power of the enemy.

The prisoners were kept on the top floor of the château, several rooms having been knocked into one. The windows were barred; there were two stories beneath; outside, the walled park all round the house was regularly patrolled by sentries; and there was a guard constantly at the gate. The wall bordering the grounds was about nine feet high and spiked at the top. These facts were at once noted by Jack, for the instant he was shut up he began to think of escape; but the outlook was not promising.

If he wished to escape at the first, his longing was intensified after a few days of prison regime. There were about seventy prisoners altogether, and twenty jailers. The treatment was not far short of brutal. The prisoners had to sleep on coarse pallets of straw, the stalks cut so short that they were like beds of spikes. The food consisted of nothing but brown bread and more or less dirty water. One and a half sous a day were allowed by the government to each prisoner for the purchase of extra food—a miserably insufficient sum; yet, poor as it was, it more often found its way into the pockets of the jailers than into those of the prisoners. The rooms were never properly cleaned, and the jailers thought nothing of bullying and assaulting brutally any man who had the audacity to grumble.

Jack had the good luck to be spared some of the worst hardships. He was allowed the use of a small room off the larger one—a kind of antechamber, the partition of which was only half demolished where the separate rooms had been knocked into one for the reception of the prisoners. A door opened directly on the staircase; it was kept closed, and it had a grating through which the sentry on duty could watch what was going on.

The warders, drafted from two companies of infantry in the neighboring town, were relieved daily. This was a precaution taken, no doubt, to prevent them from getting tired of their job and relaxing in their watchfulness. At all hours of the night the steady tramp of the sentries round the house could be heard by wakeful prisoners above. And many were wakeful, for their poor fare was ill calculated to encourage sleep, and as the days passed they shivered with the cold. It did not occur to the officer in command, a rough-tongued captain who had apparently risen from the ranks, to provide a fire; and when one of the prisoners ventured to ask for one, he got a snubbing.

Jack was the only officer among the captives. He learned afterward that officers were often liberated on parole, but this was entirely in the discretion of the district commandant, and Jack was unlucky in coming into the hands of a bully. He tried to keep cheerful, but it was hard in such depressing surroundings. The only pleasant part of the day was the short interval allowed for exercise in the park. A space was roped off within which the prisoners might run or walk; it was a considerable distance from the wall, and sentries with loaded muskets stood on guard. There was thus no chance of making a dash for liberty; but the opportunity of stretching their legs in the open for twenty minutes was a boon to men accustomed to the freedom of life on the sea.

Thus four months passed. Every day was like another. A little news came to the prisoners at times through the jailers—how further attempts to destroy the flotilla of praams at Boulogne had been defeated; how the English had attacked in vain Fort Rouge at Calais Harbor; how Napoleon had been at last crowned emperor by the pope in the church of Notre Dame. But the news which Jack eagerly awaited, of a great victory won by Admiral Nelson at sea, never came.

One day in February, when snow was falling, a new batch of prisoners was brought in, to the disgust of the others, for the room was already overcrowded. But Jack was pleased and vexed at once to see that the new arrivals were no other than Babbage, Turley, and a dozen more from the Fury.

"Well! I never did see!" ejaculated the bo'sun, when Jack hailed him. "Bless my eyes, sir, but I thought as you was gone to glory—leastways to Davy Jones, and so did we all. How did you go for to come to this here dirty old hulk of a French prison, sir?"

Jack told the whole story.

"What happened to you and the boat?" he asked.

"Why, sir, we waited for you three hours or more, as we was bid, and when you didn't come back, I said as how we ought to go up along and find you."

"No, you didn't!" interrupted Turley; "that was me. You said our orders was to wait for Mr. Hardy three hours, and the three hours being up, 'twas our dooty to go back and tell Mr. Blake. There, then, old Sparrow-grass!"

Evidently Turley supposed that on French ground the claims of discipline might be ignored. But he was mistaken.

"What do you mean by Sparrow-grass?" demanded Jack as sternly as he could.

"Well, sir, I know that his rightful name is Ben Babbage, but among ourselves, sir, when we thinks of it, we calls him Turnip—"

"That'll do, Turley. You'll call Mr. Babbage by his right name, here and anywhere else; remember that. Go on, Babbage."

"Well, sir, as I was saying, I said as how we ought to go up along and find you. So go we did; but though we spent a couple of hours a-prowling round that there tower, and about the village, and went up to the Grange and all, never a word did we hear of you. So we had to give it up, and we went back and reported you missing to Mr. Blake. He put in at Luscombe himself, and raised a deal of dust, sir, but 'twas no good. So he reported you to the admiral at Portsmouth as missing, and we got another officer in your place, a slack-twisted young—beg pardon, sir, I was a-going to do what Turley done, sir, call names; but I won't—leastways, not in your hearing, sir."

"And how did you become prisoners, too?"

"Why, sir, a Mounseer's sloop set on us t'other day when we was running before a stiff gale. The poor little Fury's topmast was carried away and the mainmast sprung. The sloop hugged us till the wind dropped; then she came up alongside and boarded. She had three times our number, and they must have bred different Frenchmen in the days when one Englishman was equal to three; we did our best, as you may believe; she lost half her men, but the other half was still double what was left of us, so we had to haul down our colors, in a manner of speaking. Mr. Blake and the new midshipman have been marched off, I did hear, to a place called Verdun; here's the rest of us, what was left, and if you'll look out of the window, you'll see the poor little Fury lying off the quay there. I s'pose they'll patch her up and call her by a new name, and that's enough to make any Englishman's blood boil, it is."

Jack was angry as Babbage at the success of the sloop in capturing the cutter. But he felt somewhat cheered at the sight of the faces of his messmates; and their presence, strangely enough, set him again thinking of escape. Babbage was a seasoned and knowing old salt, and Jack resolved to have a long and private talk with him at the first opportunity.

But though in the course of a week they had many such talks—in the park while exercising, in the little antechamber at dead of night—they almost despaired of hitting upon any likely plan of regaining their liberty. There was no chance of silencing the sentries at the head of the staircase; any attempt to break open the door would at once be heard outside, and the whole force of warders, all soldiers, would be on the alert. The bars across the windows might indeed be loosened or forcibly wrenched out, and the bedclothes—if the material of which they were made was not too poor—might be torn up and knotted to form a rope; but a small light was kept burning in the room all night, and any work at the windows would certainly be seen by the sentries at the door and by the men patrolling outside.

"Ah now! if only brother Sol was here!" sighed Babbage one evening, when Jack and he had been talking over every plan that suggested itself, possible and impossible.

"What could he do?" asked Jack.

"'Twas a saying of his, sir, 'Nary a way in but a way out,' though I said to him, 'What about a mouse-trap?' Ah, brother Sol 'ud see the way out of this here trap if any man could."

"Well, I wish this brother Sol of yours would get himself captured and come here. Where is he?"

"I don't know, sir; I haven't seed him for four and twenty year. But well I mind the last thing he said to me when he went away. 'Ben,' says he, 'God bless you!' I never forgot them feeling words, sir."

"I suppose not. As he isn't here we must do without him. We must get out somehow, Babbage. I, for one, am not going to rot in France for half a dozen years. Is there anything we haven't thought of?"

Babbage pursed his lips and pondered.

"We've thought of everything from window to ground," he said presently. "The only thing we haven't thought of is the roof, and we want to go down, not up—leastways, not yet."

"I don't know. What about the chimney?"

"No good, sir. Haven't I seed the sergeant of the guard poke his nose up every day to see if the bars are safe? They're just fixed so that no nat'ral man's head could pass between. Must ha' bin done a purpose."

"Does the sergeant examine them carefully?"

"No, sir; he just stoops down, and cocks his head around, and gives a squint up, and many's the time I'd ha' liked to take advantage of the sitivation to kick him, only I thought I'd better not. 'Kicks is poor tricks,' too, as brother Sol used to say."

"Well, I'll come into your room to-night, and have a look at them. Luckily the chimney is on the same side as the door; the sentry won't see me. We might be able to loosen those bars and clear the chimney."

"And what then, sir?"

"I'd climb the roof and take a look round. Can't say more at present."

"Very good, sir."

In the small hours Jack crept quietly into the larger room and got into the chimney unobserved. The bars were just above his head, and he very soon decided that with a sufficiently hard implement he could loosen the mortar about their ends. That was the doubtful matter. The knives supplied to a few of the prisoners who were given meat for their dinner were removed by the jailers after the meal, and all weapons had of course been taken from the men before they were brought into the room. But next morning Jack managed to force a long rusty nail out of one of the planks of the floor of his room; it seemed to him stout and strong enough for his purpose.

It was necessary to take the rest of the prisoners into his confidence. He got Babbage to tell them what he had in view, and as they were all Englishmen, with just as keen a longing for liberty as himself, there was no fear of their betraying him. As soon as the jailers had distributed the morning rations he slipped into the chimney. Half a dozen of the men, gathered as if casually near the fireplace, screened him from any one who might suddenly enter the room. He began to scrape away the mortar at one end of each of the bars, working as quickly as he could. Turley swept up with his hand the flakes of mortar that fell to the floor. By the evening Jack had worked so well that one bar was loosened sufficiently to be bent down when the time came. Then he got some of the men to tear off scraps of their woolen shirts, and with these he filled up the holes, so that even if the bar was tested by the sergeant there was a good chance that it would hold well enough to prevent discovery.

The scraping occupied him for two more days—one bar a day. By the time he had finished he found that the nail which had served him so well was worn to within half an inch of the head.

He determined to make an expedition up the chimney on that third evening, if circumstances proved favorable. After the evening meal of bread and water he got Ben to use his strength in bending down the bars. Then he crawled through and began to ascend. It was a tight fit. The chimney was narrow; but Jack, never stout, had grown thin on the prison fare, and he wormed his way up by the aid of projecting bricks left for the chimney-sweep; those were the days of chimney climbing. The flue was not very dirty; evidently no fires had been lighted below for a long time.

He reached the top without mishap. There was no chimney-pot. Looking cautiously out, showing as little of his head as possible, he saw the sea rippling far below in the distance, shining ruddy in the glow of the setting sun. A strong easterly breeze was blowing. To the right lay the harbor and town. To the left were two sloops and three or four praams; alongside the nearest sloop a coasting brig; then two fishing smacks. A cable's length from these lay the Fury, now apparently refitted with new main- and topmasts, and eastward of her, a little farther out, a lugger and another smack. Jack guessed that, besides the Fury, only the sloops and the praams were likely to be armed with cannon, though the lugger might carry a small gun.

The immediate surroundings of the château were out of sight, except to his left, being screened by the parapet of the flat roof some feet away from the chimney. Except at one point, where the roof of an outbuilding rose nearly to the same elevation as the part where he was perched, there was a sheer drop of fifteen feet from the top of the chimney-stack.

It was a sloping roof, and Jack made up his mind to crawl down it until he came to a chimney of the outbuilding, from which a thin spiral of smoke was rising. But he waited until the dusk had deepened before he thought it safe to emerge. Then he crept carefully down till he reached the smoking chimney. The roof there was not quite as high as the other; the drop was about five feet; and he guessed from the position that below the chimney were the servants' quarters. Two other chimneys beyond were smoking; these, he thought, must belong to the rooms occupied by the guard. The other chimneys, from which no smoke was rising, could only be reached by dropping some twelve feet and climbing an equal distance; and to do that would involve the risk of being seen or heard.

Jack placed his hand on the side of the chimney from which a thin smoke was coming. There was so little heat in the bricks that he guessed the fire below had been allowed to die down. His guess was confirmed when he put his hand in the air over the mouth of the chimney: it was scarcely warm. He resolved to climb down and find out whither the chimney led. Thin as it was, the smoke in the narrow space was rather suffocating, and he felt a certain dread lest he should cough and betray his presence. There seemed no end to the chimney, as step by step he let himself down, moving with extreme caution to avoid making any sound that could be heard below. As he approached the bottom he was relieved to find that the heat did not perceptibly increase. The fire must be almost dead. He was dislodging soot from the walls; would it be seen by the persons in the room? Perhaps if they saw it they would think it due to the strong wind. Perhaps there was nobody in the room. He heard no voices, no sound of movement, though he saw there was a light. The chimney was a good deal wider at the point he had reached, and he wondered if it led to the kitchen.

Waiting a little to make sure that the room was unoccupied, he at length ventured to slip down to the grate and peep into the room. It was empty of people. A large table stood in the middle; kitchen utensils hung from pegs on the walls; the door was ajar, and he now heard voices, proceeding evidently from an adjoining room.

On the hearth was a long iron poker. "That may prove useful," he thought; and leaping lightly down he seized it. A large chopper hung to a nail at the side of the chimney. This also he secured. Then creeping to the door, he peeped round from the level of the floor. Three men were seated at a table enjoying their supper. This was apparently the cook's room. The men were very much at their ease. A large fire of logs threw a glow upon their faces; a bottle of wine had been emptied; the smell of fried onions teased Jack's appetite. He listened to the men's conversation.

"Monsieur le capitaine will bring two guests to supper," said one.

"Peste!" growled a second, the fattest of all, by whom, as Jack now saw, a cook's white cap lay, "he will keep us up late. Monsieur le capitaine is so particular. A supper fit for Bonaparte is not good enough for him. The kitchen fire will have to be made up. Go and see to it, Jules."

The man addressed scraped his plate and drank his wine before lazily rising to do the cook's bidding. Jack flew back with the speed of a hare, and before the man had pushed back his chair the adventurer was several feet up the chimney, grasping his precious spoil, the poker and the chopper.

CHAPTER XI

A BREAK FOR FREEDOM

"By Jove!" thought Jack with a chuckle as he scrambled out of the chimney, "won't there be a rumpus when the cook misses his poker! Luckily, he'll never think it has gone aloft!"

It was a very sooty object that descended, after pausing to make sure that all was safe, into the prisoners' room. Jack was immediately surrounded by a group of the Fury's men, so eager to hear what had happened that they raised their voices and provoked an angry reprimand from the sentry at the door.

"Silence, you donkeys!" whispered Jack.

"Avast your jabber!" said Babbage, scowling upon Turley. "Me and Mr. Hardy have got to lay the course for this little venture."

After this the men behaved more discreetly, and left Jack alone with Babbage.

"Now, Babbage," said Jack, when he had finished his story, "we're going to escape, and I'll tell you how."

"Not up the chimbley, sir? I'd squeeze myself as small as I could, but I'm afeard I should stick fast and spoil the whole boiling."

"No, no; you're too fat for the chimney. You'll be left in charge till you hear a hubbub below; then you're to break open the door and make a dash for it at the head of the men."

"Why, I'll obey orders, sir; Ben Babbage always obeys orders; but, begging your pardon, it beats me how I'm to break the door open with a poker and a chopper—"

"Babbage, if you make any more difficulties you'll never see your brother Sol, for here you'll stay. You shall have other tools by and by. You understand, nothing is to be done until you hear the signal; it will be loud enough, I promise you. I shall wait until the captain's guests have gone. That will probably be late; so there'll be plenty of time for us to make a rope. No, don't speak. I haven't done yet. We'll tear up the coverlets—they're precious thin, but we haven't any better—and twist up a rope long enough to reach from the top of the chimney to the bottom: about fifty feet, I should think. Then I'll take it with me and four or five of the men, Turley for one—

"Begging your pardon, sir—

"What?"

"Begging your pardon, sir,—not Turley, but me."

"Oh, very well! You're too fat for the chimney at present, as you owned yourself, but we could get something off you with the chopper."

Babbage grinned sheepishly, and made no further suggestions.

Several hours later, Jack, at the window, heard loud voices and laughter in the courtyard below. The captain's guests were evidently departing. Allowing an hour to pass, sufficient, he thought, for the captain and the servants to have settled into their beauty sleep, he signed to his four selected men, and led the way up the chimney, Turley carrying the rope. They clambered across the roof and came to the kitchen chimney.

"Now, Turley," said Jack, "pay out the rope as I go down. By George! 'tis a good deal hotter than when I was here before."

He got down into the chimney, leaving the four men on the roof. It was indeed very hot; the kitchen fire, made up for cooking the supper, had evidently not yet died down. Fortunately there was little smoke; even without it the air was so stifling that Jack was surprised that he reached the bottom safely. He jumped when his feet touched the grate; they were protected only by his stockings.

There was no light in the room, but the glow of the dying fire was strong enough to show him that it was empty. He tiptoed to the three doors. The back door was locked and bolted; the door of the cook's room was closed but not locked, and he heard snores from within; the third door, leading to the rest of the house, he supposed, was ajar, and a dim light came through the opening.

A little more light was necessary. Not without a tremor, Jack ventured to put on the embers one or two small chips of wood that were drying at the side of the grate. They kindled, and lit the room with a dancing flame, which Jack fervently hoped would not attract the attention of the sentry outside. He had already seen that the shutters of the window were closed; he trusted there was no chink to betray him.

The first thing was to get arms of some kind for his men. A poker and a chopper he had already purloined, much to the mystification of the cook, no doubt. Ah! there was a rolling-pin hanging by a loop from a nail in the wall. Down it came; in a trice he tied it to the thin rope. Giving this a gentle tug, he saw the rolling-pin disappear up the chimney.

Then he looked round quickly for more weapons. Yes; there was a cleaver, a gridiron, a frying-pan.

"I must have them," he said to himself. By the time he had taken them down from their nails, the rope was hanging once more within reach. One by one they followed the rolling-pin. Another hunt on tiptoe round the room yielded a brass candlestick, a braizing-pan, several dish-covers which he rejected as being too clumsy to wield, a big soup-ladle, and a couple of long carving-knives. There were saucepans in plenty, but too big for his purpose. He had to be content with the ten articles he had obtained—rude weapons, indeed, but likely to be formidable in the hands of determined and desperate men. As the utensils of metal passed up the chimney they clicked more than once on the wall, and Jack's heart beat faster as he wondered if the sounds would be heard. But no doubt there were mice and rats behind these old walls; blessed rats and mice!